The Edge of a Golden World
by annethequene
Summary: "I have your son inside me, Henry, I know it. A prince to continue your legacy. Do not risk him over a foolish, feather-headed girl." An alternative telling of The Tudors, in which Anne does not miscarry after discovering Henry and Jane together. AU. (Rated T)
1. Prologue

**Prologue  
** _January, 1536_

The image of them burned in her mind, shrouded by pain and anger and grief; still unprocessed. She blinked away unshed tears and backed out of the room as calmly as she'd entered.

She could hear panicked whispers being exchanged, and the hurried shuffle of Lady Jane's slippers as the king shooed her from the chamber. Anne absorbed it all, waiting patiently behind the door. Her hand still rested on the knob, hesitant and shaking. But she did not cry. She did not scream. Instead, she allowed the king a moment to compose himself, held her chin high, placed a hand firmly on her swollen belly, and opened the door.

"Anne," he greeted coolly, as if only moments ago she had not walked in on him sitting with his lover in his lap. "How do you fare, sweetheart?"

She regarded his question for a moment, rubbing her hand in slow, deliberate circles over her stomach. "I am well. In fact, we both are," she said after a time, glancing his way. "Well indeed, and growing larger by the day."

Henry paused, eyeing her calculated motion. "Anne, what you saw..."

"... I saw nothing," she interrupted, considering her words carefully. Her husband's eyes were glossy with anticipation when she turned to face him, and she could see beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. "I _saw_ nothing, and I will _see_ nothing until I retire for my laying in, when I birth our son and he is placed in my arms."

Silence blanketed them, until, slowly, understanding shone in his features. His mouth, once agape, pressed into a firm, thin line. "Of course," he replied, reaching his hand out to her. "You have my word, sweetheart."

She took his hand and he raised their joined fingers to her face, caressing her there. The gesture did little to console her. Only precious moments ago, that hand had been on another woman's cheek, and his lips had been in her ear, whispering sweet nothings. _No_ , Anne thought, willing the image away. She would not think of the whore Jane Seymour. She _could_ not.

The babe kicked within her, her strong little prince, and gone was any thought of that milk-faced wench. "Henry..." she breathed, instinctively pulling their twined fingers to her belly. At first there was nothing, and the king stared down at her with confusion; but then the babe shifted inside her, and it was like the king had become a boy once more.

His face brightened and his eyes were alight with joy. He smiled grandly and cupped her stomach fully, laughing. "Oh, Anne," he murmured warmly. "Oh, Anne, what a gift you are giving me. Our boy... Our Edward."

He made to kiss her, but she pulled away from him, staring down at the roundness of her belly. "It would do well to remind Your Majesty that what is given can be taken away," she said quietly, her eyes flickering to his face. His smile had gone. "I have your son inside me, Henry, I know it. A prince to continue your legacy. Do not risk him over a foolish, feather-headed girl."

It was the last they spoke of the matter.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : The scene in which Anne discovers Henry and Jane has always been like salt in an open wound to me. It's so raw and emotional, and utterly heartbreaking... so, after rewatching the show, I decided to change it. Anne deserved better, so I'm writing better. It will give me some peace of mind, even if it's just fictional. Anyways, this is not meant to be a very long story. Perhaps just a few chapters, as I see fit. Or perhaps not. Who knows. As of now, I have it written in about three or four parts, but if I get pleasant enough feedback I may consider extending it. Whatever the case may be, I hope you all enjoy the ride!


	2. Part I

_April, 1536_

Anne paced her chamber, running her fingers along each surface as she passed. When she rubbed the pads of her fingertips together there was no dust, but still she was unsatisfied. "Nan," she called to her handmaiden. The woman was there in an instant. "Arrange to have the apartment cleaned again, more thoroughly."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Nan replied, hurrying off to fulfill her task.

As she left, there was a knock at the door. It was her brother, George, and Anne nodded at the other lady's maids, who sat playing cards and practicing their needlework. "Leave us," she commanded, waving them away.

They each of them rose to her bidding, leaving as quietly as a whisper. George shut the door once they'd gone, and moved to sit at the table overlooking the gardens, book in hand.

"I should hope that is the Lord's word," Anne quipped, smiling.

"Fear not, sister," George replied with a huff. "It is nothing of sin."

Pacified, she nodded and resumed her inspection of the chamber. "I've asked for Elizabeth to come stay for a while," she told her brother as she put strewn-about books back into place. "I want everything to be perfect when she arrives. It will be the last time I see her until Christmas, after all." Indeed, with court going on progress soon for the summer and Anne lying in through May, it was the only opportunity to see her daughter before the holidays.

"Oh?" George looked up and smiled. "I should like to see my niece once more."

"Lady Bryan assures me of her grace and beauty," Anne said confidently, "and that she is as accomplished as any princess ought to be. More accomplished than the Lady Mary was at her age, I daresay, and a great deal brighter."

"She is a fine princess," her brother agreed, nodding. "Very fine. You've done well. One should only hope that the boy in your belly grows to be as great as Elizabeth."

"Greater, I pray." She sighed, curling a hand over the roundness of her belly. The sound of sweet laughter caught her attention, and she took to looking towards the gardens, where the king was walking. "A boy to be the image of his father," she whispered wistfully, darkness clouding her mind.

Through the rose-laced lattice that guarded the glass window pane, she could just make out the figure of her husband, arm-in-arm with the whore Jane Seymour. The white-faced girl was smiling sweetly, and paying every attention to the king, who blossomed under her praise. She watched them closely, through the pain and grief that welled in her eyes.

"He's broken his promise," Anne said quietly, her tone much changed. She beckoned him to look with a wag of her thin, pale finger.

George didn't feign to lift his eyes. "What promise?" he asked lightly, flipping the page of his tome.

She clicked her tongue with impatience and willed her anguish away. "The promise not to see that _slut_ Jane Seymour anymore, of course. Each time I turn he has her spinning pretty tales of summers in Wolfhall, or the like."

"Oh, that." George shut his book and reclined in his chair, sighing. "Anne," he started, rubbing between the bridge of his nose exasperatedly. "We've discussed this, dear sister. Whilst you are still with child, you must let him roam. Wander he might, but you are his _queen._ He will return to you. Catherine is dead, and soon you will bear the king a son and heir. You are untouchable- so long as you keep your temper in check."

"He did not return to Catherine. Not when I was his lady love," Anne murmured, looking away. "What if he does not return to me, either? What if he decides to divorce me, as he did her?"

"It won't come to that," George insisted. "I promise you, it won't come to that. She may be sweet of face, but she is plain, and as charming as a bowl of porridge. His Majesty won't stay interested long."

Her eyes flickered to her brother. "Some said the same of me, when I was on the rise," she reminded him. "Cardinal Wolsey once asked what a silly girl like me would have to say to a king, and I tell you, George, whatever I might have whispered in his ear to gain his favor, that dizzy-eyed wench will say too."

"Peace be, Anne," her brother urged, taking her hand. "Do not forget how delicate our seat is. One misstep and we are as dust in the wind."

It was the babe he meant, of course. If she lost it, as she'd lost the other... No. She wouldn't think on it. The very idea of it made her swallow hard and she reached a tentative hand to her neck.

George grabbed her wrist before she reached her destination. "Now, now," he calmed her, "no need to be afraid. You have the next King of England in your belly, and soon you will show your worth." She paused, allowing his soothing words to ease their way into her mind.

"He will be a most glorious prince, brother." She allowed a light smile to grace her lips. Her good humor had returned, and she relaxed, taking a seat across from her brother. "Will you visit Greenwich whilst I wither in the darkness?" she asked, eyeing him.

"Perhaps," he replied easily, smirking. "Or perhaps I will find myself too busy."

"You'd better not," she remarked, chuckling lightly.

Another sweet giggle caught her attention, one from a particular white-faced whore, and Anne's mood darkened once more. "Anne," George warned, grabbing her hand. "Leave it. There is no harm Jane Seymour's presence can do, but unto your own pride."

Rage flared within her, and she felt heat rising to her cheeks. Of course, George was right, but the fact only served to anger her further. She rose quickly, but just as soon as she went to throw her brother's tome across the chamber she felt a sharp, shooting pain in her belly. She cried out, clutching the curve of her stomach, and George was at her side to catch her before she fell to the ground.

She could hardly hear him as he screamed for help. The pain was so blindingly strong. As she looked up at her brother's face there were black spots in her vision. " _George_ ," she breathed, grasping for something, anything, to hold on to as another rippling wave of pain crashed over her body.

It was the last thing she remembered before the world went dark.

* * *

 _She could see him, standing tall beside the throne. Her son, her sweet boy, as grown as a man could be. He smiled when he caught her eye, and beckoned her forward with a wave of his hand._

 _Anne lifted her skirts and ran to him, wrapping her arms around his strong figure. He smelled of pine and moss, and she inhaled deeply, running her fingers through his hair. "How you've grown," she remarked, but when she pulled away it was not her son in her arms. It was Henry. Her joy turned to ashes, and she felt her mouth run dry._

 _"How could you do this!?" he accused, shoving his finger in her cheek. "How could you lose my boy!? My only boy!"_

 _"No!" she cried, shaking her head. She hadn't lost him! He was just there, only a moment ago... She reached her hand down to her belly, to the swell where he'd once blossomed, but felt nausea wash over her when there was nothing but her firm, flat corset. "No... no..."_

 _"You whore!" Henry screamed at her, shoving at her shoulders. "You whore! You lied! You lied!"_

 _"No!" Anne insisted, grabbing his collar, but as soon as she'd touched him his likeness crumbled to dust. She screamed, dropping to her knees beside the mound of dirt that had once been her great king, but a soft, coy laughter caused her to turn her head._

 _It was Lady Jane Seymour, standing tall and proud, with her pale, golden curls left loose about her shoulders. She had one hand gripping an English rose, and the other wrapped lazily over the roundness of her stomach. Atop her head rested St. Edward's crown, the very crown Anne had worn when she was made queen._

 _"You've lost," Jane said simply, smiling. "You've lost your prince and your place, all at once. And I will rise."_

 _Anne felt heat burning in her cheeks. "You will sooner rot from that babe in your belly than rise to raise him," she hissed, fists clenched._

 _"Oh, indeed," the woman allowed. "I would have. I might still."_

 _Her words made no sense. "Would have?" Anne asked, raising a brow._

 _But then Jane was gone, and she was alone in the darkness._

 _Whore, she could hear Henry's voice call into the shadows. Whore, whore, whore..._

* * *

Anne woke with a start, eyes darting around the room. It was dark, the only light coming from dim-lit candles that were strewn about the chamber. There were bedmaids and physicians all around her, each astonished as she shot up from bed. Her hand went instantly to her belly, and relief flooded through her when she found the hard swell her son rested within. As if to reassure her, she felt him kick against her hand.

"Your Majesty," said one man, putting a soothing hand to her shoulder. "You must rest. Please, lay down."

"The king," she croaked, looking for Henry in the sea of faces. The men looked amongst one another, unsure of what to say. "Where is the king?" she asked again, pursing her lips.

It was George who answered her, ushering his way through the masses. "His Majesty has gone on progression early," he said, standing at the foot of her bed.

Anne felt as though she'd been slapped, and blinked back tears. "You may go," she told the physicians and maids. When they hesitated, she told them again, only this time it was not a light command. " _Leave us_ ," she ordered, as strongly as she could. She waited until they'd left to turn her attention back to George.

"Why has he gone?" she asked quietly, holding her belly.

"He thought it was best to leave you to carry the child in peace, away from court."

"Away from her," Anne whispered, looking down. Away from Jane Seymour. "So he is openly courting her, then?"

"It would seem so." George took Anne's hand and rubbed soothing circles to the back of it. "She has been given new apartments and her family is on the rise. They are preparing her, Anne. Preparing her for the moment you lose your place. Even a fool could see how unstable we are."

"I've not lost my boy," she replied, more firmly. "I felt him but moments ago. He is _strong_."

"But not for long, if you keep up this jealousy. T'is a _good_ thing the king took his slut and left, sister, please see it. You will have no worries whilst they are gone. You can recover, save your energy, and, in time, birth the king what he desires most."

"A son..."

"A son," George confirmed. "I swear it, Anne, the moment a prince is placed in his arms, he will cease all attentions to Jane Seymour. But you _must_ deliver him a son. A _living_ son. And you must keep yourself calm enough to do it." She looked away, feeling a tear fall from her cheek. "There, there," her brother murmured, wiping her eyes with his sleeve. "Don't fret, Anne. All is well. The baby is fine, and so are you. I must go, now, to follow the procession. I will see you soon."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before he left her alone in the candle-lit chamber.

She shut her eyes once he was gone, clutching her belly tighter. She had come too far, risen too high, to lose it all now- and over a silly-headed girl, no less. George was right. She had to remain calm, lest she risk the child again.

Anne swallowed hard and reclined on the bed, rolling to her side. She would not think of Henry with Jane. She would not think of how close she'd come to losing it all. Instead, she would focus on the child within her.

She would focus on the child, and she would pray to God that it was a boy.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Wow. I am astounded by your positive feedback! Thank you! I hope this chapter does not disappoint. There are about two-ish more parts to this, partially written. They should be up some time soon, but until then, be pacified in knowing the child is well, and Anne is still queen. Thank you for reading, and I look forward to your commentary!


	3. Part II

_July, 1536_

The court had been on progress for all of three weeks when George sent his first letter. It was a report of the king's indiscretions, and her mouth went dry as she read, hands clutching the parchment so tightly it seemed like to tear.

Her husband had taken Mistress Seymour to bed the very night they departed, it seemed, and named her his Queen of Summer the following morning. He crowned her with a laurel of wildflowers, and gave her the queen's apartments when they arrived at Hampton Court. She had been gifted new jewels and gowns, and a horse from the king's own stable. She and her brothers rode out with him to hawk and hunt, and in the nights she danced with him as sweet as a maid, though her virtue was long taken. She smiled and fluttered her pretty lashes, and, by George's account, was praying to God every morn to be with child so that she might give unto the king a son.

Anne had asked Nan to throw the letter into the kindling hearthfire before it could upset her, but weeks later, when his next report arrived, she found it harder to control herself.

Her brother wrote that the lady had come to favor quail's eggs above all else, and had stopped riding with the king's company. He'd paid off a maid to check her sheets for her monthly bleeding, and been told that in the time they'd been on progress it had yet to come. Of course, it may all have been by mere coincidence, but Anne knew the signs all too well. The very idea of it fueled her with rage.

"The slut is with child," Anne hissed bitterly to herself. The court had been gone all of three months, and already the king's wench carried his bastard. She took a deep breath and crumpled the letter in her fist, waving away Jane Parker, who had delivered the letter. Her goodsister fell into a sweeping curtsy and left promptly, and Anne fell back onto her featherbed when she'd gone.

Should she lose the child, or even birth another healthy daughter, her place would be lost. Already their marriage was all but at an impasse. A single misstep and she was like to think that Henry would lop her very head from her shoulders and take that milk-faced slut to wife. He would gain a queen and an heir in a single ceremony. He must have thought of it, or perhaps been led to the conclusion by those in support of a Seymour queen. If she was not careful, that sallow-skinned wench would sit the throne, with a cross-eyed boy in her image at Henry's knee.

Her arms moved to wrap around her belly, grown far larger than it ever had been with Elizabeth. Inside rested the one piece of Henry left to her. The one piece that Jane Seymour could not claim with her soft smile and pretty words. A prince, she was sure of it, to be her savior. Once he was born all would be well- George had assured her. The king would return to her, and the slut could be sent away, back to her precious Wolf Hall.

She need only stay calm a few more weeks. Then, or so the physicians had predicted, her babe would be born. A healthy baby boy, if God allowed, and she would be safe.

After a pause Anne regained her senses, and threw the wad of parchment across the room- away from her sight. She could not allow herself to slip, not now when she'd come so far. No, she would think of sweet things instead, like the thought of her darling daughter, come to visit from Hatfield.

After the incident in April the queen had been forced to begin her lying in, and was forbidden the company of any but her lady's maids. Her visit with the princess was postponed indefinitely, but she would have none of that. It had taken weeks, of course, to convince them, along with all of the patience that was left to her, but after a time she was finally able to persuade the physicians to allow her time with Elizabeth. She wrote to her daughter a week prior, and she would be arriving on the morrow.

The princess was little more than a child, but Lady Bryan wrote constantly of her piety and grace, and of her good heart and agreeable countenance. Anne was always pleased to read the reports- far more so than she was to read her brother's.

There was a knock at the door of the main apartment, and Anne raised a brow, waiting for one of her ladies to come and tell her who had come calling.

"It is Lady Bryan, Your Majesty, with the Princess Elizabeth," came Nan's voice. The woman entered Anne's chamber, smiling kindly. Following behind was the princess, a blur of giggles and golden skirts.

She had grown so beautiful, so fair. Her hair was thick and curling, the very shade of a rose in bloom. Her eyes, bright and blue, were alight as she, in a manner quite unfit for a princess, climbed Anne's quilts and crawled onto the bed. "Elizabeth!" she cried out happily, grabbing hold of her. She pressed her daughter hard against her and kissed her from her jaw to her ear. "Oh, my own heart... my dearest girl."

"Mama," Elizabeth greeted, smiling unabashed at her mother. She reached a hand up and, without any hesitation, she wiped away the queen's tears. "Cry, mama?"

Anne rubbed her nose lightly on her daughter's forehead, inhaling her delicate scent. She still smelled as she had when she was just born. Warm and sweet and fresh. The scent of an innocent. "I'm only crying because I am so happy to see you, sweetest girl," she replied, smiling. She would not tell Elizabeth how close they were to falling from grace. Even if she did, the princess would never understand. She was too young, too good. She was only nearly three.

"Baby," Elizabeth murmured, putting her small, chubby hands on the curve of Anne's belly.

"Yes," she whispered, nodding. "A prince, should God see it fit."

Elizabeth patted at the roundness of her own stomach and laughed, and Anne could hardly help from grinning.

"My lady," Lady Bryan reprimanded carefully, shaking her head at the girl. "That is _not_ the behavior of a princess. Come down at once."

"It's quite alright, Lady Bryan, I assure you," Anne said. She called for her ladies to enter her chamber, and they each of them smiled kindly at the princess before taking their seats around the room. "There now, you've a whole room of ladies that would be more than happy to entertain you whilst mama rests," she whispered to her daughter, kissing her cheek.

Madge Sheldon gathered the princess up and placed her gently on the floor. "Shall I read you a story, princess?" the lady asked her, but Elizabeth shook her head. "Perhaps some music, then?"

"Music!" Elizabeth proclaimed happily, nodding. Lady Bryan shot her a steady glance, and after a moment the little child added a quiet, polite, "please."

Once the princess was settled with the ladies, Anne turned to Lady Bryan, brows furrowed. "I was told you would not be arriving until the morrow."

"It is easy to make quick time in the summer, Your Majesty, when there is no snow or rain to tarry our journey." The woman bowed her head respectfully, and Anne nodded, looking back to her daughter.

Elizabeth had already wrapped the ladies around her little finger, and danced jovially as one played at the harp and another sang a soft melody. Her sweet girl, who had been in her belly as she was wedded and crowned. She wished with all her might that Henry could be proud of her, as he had been in Catherine's daughter. But then, he loved Catherine still when Mary was born.

She'd been right, that proud, Spanish cow. Henry had tired of her, like all the others. It was Anne fortune, at least, that he'd tired of her after she conceived. _Let him tumble in bed with that Seymour slut_ , she thought, running her hands absentmindedly over her belly, _she might hold him him for now, but once I birth a son and heir it will be_ my _name that is chanted throughout England. I will be the Queen of Summer, and of fall and winter, too_.

She need only birth a son, a healthy baby boy, and she would rise once more.

* * *

It was dawn just three days later when the pains began. The king had been sent for, and the princess was taken by Lady Bryan to her apartments until it was all over.

By the same evening, the physician advised her to push.

Pain cut through her like a blade. Hot, searing pain, that only worsened the harder she pushed. She couldn't recall such intensity with Elizabeth. In fact, her daughter had been birthed with some ease; a little pinch of pain here or there, and a burst of pressure that left her body as soon as the babe was out. This time, however, was pure anguish. She tossed her head back and screamed, clutching the bedmaids's hands so tightly she could hear them cry out.

"Very good, Your Majesty," the physician told her, smiling. "Just one more push. One more, Majesty, that's right."

With a shudder, Anne fell back on the cushions, exhausted.

It was done, the babe was free, but the pain had not left her as it had with the princess. "What is it?" she asked quietly, frantically eyeing those attending the birth. There were a few hesitant glances between them, and immediately her heart dropped. The answer was written in their pitiful eyes.

"Your Majesty has given birth to a healthy baby girl," said the first bedmaid brave enough to speak.

The child was placed in her arms, bloody and howling as it was, and for a moment the queen refused to look. _A girl_ , she thought, feeling dread course through her veins. But then the child yanked on one of her sweaty curls as it reached for her, and Anne was forced to see the face of her condemner.

She was beautiful. So like Elizabeth had been when she was born- only this little babe was all of Anne's own making. From the wisp of dark curls atop her head to her straight, narrow nose. Even her skin, so pale and fragile, was a match for her own. "Oh, God," she sobbed, holding the screaming thing closer. "Oh, God, it is over." It was over, and she would have left two little girls as her legacy, alone in the world but for each other.

Another pain rippled through her and she cried out. The baby was taken away immediately, and Anne writhed in the bed, groaning loudly. Was it God punishing her for birthing another daughter? She grabbed hold of the bedsheets and from her lips drew a high-pitched shriek. The physician was between her legs in an instant, and when he rose his eyes were grown wide.

"Push, Majesty!" he ordered quickly. "Push, push!"

And she did. She pushed with all her might, screaming through the whole of it. She screeched until she tasted blood in her mouth. Then, suddenly, she felt another wave of pressure leaving her body. The cries of a second child melded with the first, and she stared at the canopy of her bed, unable to register the words that were spoken around her. _Another_ , she thought wistfully. There had been another.

Excitement burst through the chamber, and the queen did her best to focus on what they were crying out.

"A _prince_!" proclaimed the physician, holding the babe proudly in his hands. "A prince!"

The words brought Anne reeling forward. "A prince?" she asked, reaching for the child. He placed the infant in her arms, and she pulled his little legs apart to see the bud of manhood, wet and bloody betwixt his thighs. "My God," she gasped, tears falling from her cheeks to his blood-stained skin. "A boy. It is a _boy_."

In her arms, wailing with lungs as strong as any could pray for, lay her savior. She'd borne the king a son, a _legitimate_ son. A prince to rule England in his wake.

"Edward," she breathed, pressing her lips to his slick forehead. "Oh my sweet boy."

She allowed the prince from her sight only to be cleaned and donned in cloth.

She was washed as well, and her sheets and bedgown replaced. She was wrapped in a thick cloak of crimson velvet, and the babes, one placed in each of her arms, were swaddled in smooth ivory silk. A boy and a girl, each in her likeness. Their soft little heads shared the same dusting of dark ringlets, and their eyes were as keen and bright as her own. She stared down at them for what seemed like hours, until, quite abruptly, the chamber door was flung open and a large, commanding voice called for everyone to leave. She did not need to look up to know it was Henry.

He was furious when she first looked up to meet his gaze. "I have been told you've birthed another daughter," he ground out.

"I have, Your Majesty," she replied sweetly, nodding.

He'd expected fearfulness, but her warm countenance and soft smile caught him off guard, and he furrowed his brows, further enraged. She looked down, though, then back up at him. It took him a moment, but slowly his eyes followed, and when they did they grew thrice in size.

"Two?" he asked in disbelief. "There are two?"

Anne nodded, looking back down at her children. "One is indeed a girl," she murmured, kissing her daughter.

"And the other?"

Her eyes flickered to Henry's, taking him in at that moment; how desperately he clutched at his cap, how he swallowed hard when she licked her lips to speak. "A son, Your Majesty. The other is a son."

"A _son._ " A small smile blossomed on the king's lips, and soon Henry was beaming as he strode to her side, grabbing the swaddled babe she held out to him. He held the boy by the window, so he might take the full measure of him. Sunlight glowed behind their forms as though they were angels come down from the heavens, and Anne watched, pleased, as the king pressed a firm kiss to the boy's forehead. "Edward," he whispered, "Our Edward."

"Is he not everything a prince should be, my love?" Anne purred, running her fingers through Henry's hair as he took a seat beside her. "Is he not beautiful?"

"More beautiful than any prince that has ever walked this earth," he affirmed, nodding. "And so strong. Do you see how he holds my finger?"

She laughed lightly, smiling. "We've had a daughter, as well," she reminded him, holding the second bundle out for him. He passed their son back to her arms and took hold of the girl, just as exuberant.

"She is much like you," he noted, smiling. "As is our son. They are the image of their beautiful mother." He fell silent for a moment, but for the soft noise of his cooing at the babe that he was like to hate when he first stepped into the room. "What shall we call her?"

Anne had already thought of a name, and straightened herself, preparing for his ire as she spoke up. "Mary," she said firmly, holding their prince close to her breast.

"Mary?" It was the name of his daughter with Catherine, she knew, but a more fitting name was there never. She would be named Mary, and the bastard that Henry produced with the Spanish cow would be disgraced and all but forgotten. Anne's daughter would lay claim to anything that had once been the Lady Mary's, and her son would prove to the people, and unto Rome, that their marriage was blessed from God.

It seemed Henry now realized what she meant to accomplish by it, but there was no anger in his eyes, as she'd expected. "Mary," he agreed strongly, staring into her eyes. "Princess Mary."

"And Prince Edward."

He smiled as she spoke their son's name, but it soon fell, and he leaned in close to her, more serious. "You have given me all that you promised," he murmured. "I should never have doubted you, sweetheart. Not for a moment." He kissed her softly, and she felt a heat within her as their lips met. She took in every bit of the kiss, savoring it, and sighed lustily when they parted. "My love, my sweet," her husband repeated, brushing his thumb over her lips.

She would not forgive what Henry had done to her in pursuing Lady Jane Seymour, but in that moment, as they sat together holding their two babes- one a healthy prince- she allowed herself to forget. He had returned to her, and her place at his side was safe. No matter what mistress he took afterward, she would always be his queen, and the mother of his son. Even if it broke her heart to see him love others, she would endure, and be content.

For now.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : There you have it. Anne's place is secure. There will be one more part to this, but it will be shorter, and placed years and years from now. So technically, if you don't care to read epilogue-type chapters, the story is concluded. I hope I've done this story justice, and that you are all satisfied with this ending. I went back and forth, but overall I am pleased with how everything panned out. Thank you all for your support thus fart! I hope that this and the next installment of the story will be received just as well. I look forward to hearing from you all!


End file.
